Antisocial

I went to Social Wine Bar for its opening and during a Fashion Show after-party. I'm not sure which is a truer vibe of the place – those nights, or this random Tuesday when my GDS and I popped in. Let’s hope it’s the former. First, the hot “Wine Stud” bartenders were replaced with manorexic substitutes. We received no attention, despite the fact that there were only five people at the bar. Manorexic #1 spent all his time with the old-as-dirt man and his trophy girlfriend at the end of the bar, assuming that’s where the money was, although they should have known GDS was the wiser choice (“Do you work on commission? BIG mistake. Huge.” – Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman). The only sweetness about the whole place was the man in the high-water work pants pulled up to his chest bone sipping the salted margarita. Presh. I assume people continuing going back to Social for the only reason I now will – the wine flights. It’s the only spot in town and they’re fabulously fun. Maybe they deliver.

Jail Bird

BREAKING NEWS (well, 'breaking' on Friday, but we were at happy hour): Pasquale Pellicoro has been indicted on federal drug charges in the case involving Ravenel and the white stuff. You may know Pasquale from his fine knowledge of wine, popping up at places like La Fourchette and O'Hara and Flynns. We know him from his parties and always entertaining stories that make you feel like you're at least 50% glamourously Italian yourself. We hope Pasquale comes out of this okay, but we are a little excited to possibly have a jail bird acquaintance. It's so "Breakfast at Tiffany's" - put on the dress, hat and pearls, bake some muffins, and deliver the weather report. We're there for you, Pasquale. Fortuna buona!

“Baby, you make my software turn to hardware!”

I was driving in my convertible this morning when some guy just shouts at the top of his lungs at me, “HEY! HOW’RE YOU, GOOD LOOKIN??!,” almost causing me to get into an accident. And it’s not just this morning… I’ll be on long roadtrips and I’ll get honks from about 10 truckers. Guys – is this seriously all you can come up with? Shouting at us as we drive by? HONKING at us as we drive by? What do you expect? That we’re going to pull over and (insert Penthouse letter here)? Of course I’d almost prefer this manly aggression over the wuss-way-out alternative known as texting. Of course I love the one-line flirty text as much as the next gal (and it better be sexy talk if it’s in a text), but not as the sole source of communication. Grow some balls. But not too many… another guy actually showed me his… ummm, let’s say, ‘manhood’… in public. They just love to show it off. Like a monkey. Now, I’ll probably perpetuate this behavior because I am still extremely attracted to this guy and can’t wait for him to call again, but come on. I know I don’t live in Victorian times, but is it too much to ask that a man doesn’t drop trou on the first date (even if it IS impressive)? Guys - just pick up the phone and call us. If you see us walking by, just say hello. We learned from ‘Big Daddy’ that “initiating the conversation is half the battle.” Oh, and learn to dance. We like that.

McDreamy, McSteamy, Mc-I-Got-To-Get-Me-One-Of-Those

I may start going to MUSC instead of happy hour. What is it about doctors? Is it that they save lives? Is it that they're far too busy for you? Is it the thought that they may throw you up against an X-ray machine (in a good way)? The problem is - I don't know how to meet them. Like chefs, they're an elusive group - but even more so. My Go'Diva sister thinks you have to be a nurse to date them, but I think that's an awfully limited viewpoint. I can't help but wonder, is it ethical to fake an injury to get some one-on-one time? If any of you have suggestions, please help a sister out. In the meantime, check my box 'yes' for Dr. Fill-In-The-Blank.

Crushed Green Velvet

Those three words...

Crushed Green Velvet...I can add to that...Tight Mini Dress.

The Go'Divas are all about West of the Ashley...of course we want the area to prosper, we own investment property on that side of the river. We're the first to promote...but, when Go'Diva #1 gets dragged by her right, python covered stiletto, it's never a good thing. I decided to venture to J Paulz. I enter...all around me I see denim, stone blast jean shorts, dirty Reebok (is that how you spell it) hi-tops, too tight dresses, frizzy hair...where do these people come from? J Paulz is a nice place, the decor is great, the bathrooms something to write home about, but the people who frequent the venue are like something out of the movie Deliverance...(queue freaky song)...everyone had bad skin, like maybe they smoked, drank and ate too much and didn't bother with keeping up to date with their skincare regime. When I had had just about too much, someone told me, "this is James Island"...is that true? Is there a class of people that live within a stones throw of my bubble that could be related to those people they show on the news after a bad hurricane and their trailer just blew away? Yes.

Take the gentleman at the bar, slugging back his brew with his fellow comrade. He had on his finest black silk shirt…unbuttoned down to the hollow of his ribcage. He had been freshly waxed and then sun burnt...by the tanning bed. What a sight. He looked just like the bad guy from Grease, I can't think of his name.

Just when I didn't think I could handle anymore, I'm walking out to safety...I see a woman, prancing like a 4 year old in her mother’s heels for the first time, walking towards the door. A crushed velvet mini dress, in lime green, pink lipstick, orange blush, fake fingernail, the works.

That is when I realized, J Paulz is the hang out for the upper crust red necks.

PS – Sushi was good, service was the worst…ie non-existent and they had fun bathrooms.

A Simple Ode to Oak

Every girl wants to ride an Aston...